


Into the Woods

by bonerthatiusedtoknow



Series: Character studies, drabbles, and a bit o' this'n that [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble Collection, Experimental Style, Gen, Purgatory, point of view challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonerthatiusedtoknow/pseuds/bonerthatiusedtoknow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble about Dean and Cas’s arrival in purgatory from the pov of a creature there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> I’m hesitant to post this because I’m not sure if the style I attempted to use was effective or not but whatevs. Typed on my phone so my apologies for unintended grammatical errors.

Dark dark dark and pain and hunger so much hunger like claws like teeth tearing and ripping into its flesh—so it tears and rips in return. The gray is permanent but maybe not all it knows, maybe there was color once; maybe that was a dream—a nightmare to tease, worse than the claws and teeth, hooks. Too much gray blurs together and time runs flat, it knows nothing but the hunger now, that at least it can be sure of. The circle of life—what passes for it now.

Thump thump, thump thump. The chase, the red that will follow is relief from the gray. Almost more important than satiating the gnawing pit in its gut almost almost. Copper in its mouth burning filling staining—then the world whites, so bright so bright, and it lands flat on its back as the prey escapes into shadows.

Dark again but oh there was light once, bright bright so much light so much light, burning where its soul might be. Can’t be a dream, a nightmare, too real like a touch , like fire singeing its fur, blinding and putting spots in its vision where there aren’t any.The world has tipped off its axis, spinning spinning, and none of its senses are working the way that they should. Can’t be trusted. The scent it’s picking up must be another imagining, one more trick but it doesn’t care, can’t care.

Honey in its nose, thick and sweet and warm, a smell it knows, but has long since forgotten, so the connection sparks and glows just out of reach. It’s distant though, a day or so and the beast isn’t the only one around to smell it want it claim it mine mine mine. Not the only one to try, but the only one to succeed, it seethes. New words pop in and out of existence in its head with every scenting like planets, like stars, like the sun—so long since it’s seen the sun—not a dream not a nightmare no no, real.

But there’s a prickling against its skin, fur raising on end, itchy and charged,doesn’t belong here,a warning maybe. So it finds a new trail, ducks under trees and creeps through caves until the hair lies flat again. Never, never does it lose track of the smell, closer now yes yes and sweeter. It doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, there is nothing anymore but this, the hunt. Others cross its path, but they are easily disposed of and easier forgotten, blend into the gray and the shadow.

Two moons have passed—moons here but no sun—its nose so full of honey it’s drowning in it, sweet demise. So close it can taste it on the back of its tongue, but too fast, too smart. Sweeter though this way, it’s the chase that’s worth the hunger almost better than the smell in its nose almost almost.

Something changes. Charred logs crumble to dust beneath its paws, fresh, still hot, still smoking and it’s choking with the proximity so close so close so close so—

"Looking for me?" Silence. For the first time it can remember, the chatter in its head dies away into nothingness. There are no voices screaming, no pumping pumping in its ears, no shattering ache like glass. There is green, there is gold, there is warmth, there is life and song in this dead, gray, wasteland. It could stay forever just like this. He is hot like summer warming its cold cold flesh, golden and alive. He challenges with eyes full of green meadows and trees and moss; the beast had forgotten such a color could exist and all it wants to do is cling, possess, devour until light sparks from the tips of its claws and each individual strand of fur. Thinks maybe it could fly, float away into the sky and become the moon’s opposite.

The gray murmurs nectar on the tongue, says gift from the mother warm in the belly. Its mouth waters, can almost taste the truth of the words yes yes yes. Half in love with sunshine, but married to the night, and the fur on the back of its neck bristles as the voices tear at each other. As they argue their places. A growl vibrates up the back of its throat, a plea for silence, quiet quiet think think—so sore with it, need need need.

Something sparks in his eyes then, green fire, flames. “So that’s how it’s going to be,” he says. And it rejoices as the gray shrieks and his weapon glistens and sings through the air. Now it doesn’t have to choose.


End file.
